


Frozen

by I_Will_Achieve_Vikturi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Comforting Victor Nikiforov, Crying Katsuki Yuuri, Fainting, Fever, Hypothermia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Sick Katsuki Yuuri, Sleepy Cuddles, Vomiting, baths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Will_Achieve_Vikturi/pseuds/I_Will_Achieve_Vikturi
Summary: Viktor finds Yuri in an alleyway in the middle of the Russian winter, suffering from the cold. So naturally he takes him in. While nursing him back to health, he learns about him, where he was from, etc. This means he also learns about his tragic past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I had floating around for a while, but never knew how to put it together. This is the result of some inspiration.

Viktor looked on at the storm raging outside his home. Through the frosted glass of his window he could perceive an endless flurry of white swirling about in their freezing dance of death. He audibly sighed, although the only one to hear was his faithful canine companion, a brown poodle by the name of Makkachin. Said dog padded across the carpeted floor with natural ease and set himself next to his silver-haired master, awaiting attention. Sparing a glance down, Viktor smiled halfheartedly at Makkachin, and ran his fingers gently through his curly dark fur.

Makkachin was getting old; there was no possible way he could withstand the brutality of Russian weather any longer. Therefore, leaving him behind, Viktor wrapped himself up tightly in all of his winter gear (a substantial amount, considering the country he was in) and stepped out of the warmth and safety of his home into the unforgiving storm.

Even despite all the protective gear he wore, he still shivered and sneezed harshly. It was going to be a miserable walk to the grocery store and back, especially the way back with all his supplies in hand. Still, he braved the storm all the same and trekked through the blizzard to the store.

The storm was especially brutal that day, even by his standards. The wind whipped his long silver hair about his head erratically and tinted his ears, nose, and cheeks a light pink hue. Tremors racked his frame endlessly in their futile battle against the cold. After twenty-seven years in Russia, he thought he would have grown accustomed to the near-constant freezing conditions that were a normality in the country. As the years passed, however, just like Makkachin could no longer stand the temperatures, so, too, had Viktor grown more unaccustomed to them.

Yet even so, he carried on, through the snow-clad roads.

On his way, he spotted a side road that would lead in the general direction he was heading, surrounded on either side by tall brick buildings that would serve to block the frigid breeze and some of the flurry. Thankful for this discovery, he hurried inside, and felt the instant relief of being out of the wind and snow for the time being. A little happier, he straightened his posture and carried on, his steps a little lighter.

The alley itself was not very impressive; there were the buildings that served as a barrier against the cold, made of weathered, faded bricks that seemed a little too precarious for his liking. Then there were trash bags and cans lining either side along said structures, although they seemed rather abandoned. Much of it reeked of rotten food and expired milk, so that he had to plug his nose and breathe harshly through his mouth. It made him audibly gag, yet it was still far better than the brutality of the weather beyond.

Oh, what he would give for some hot chocolate right then!

The thought warmed him a little, and he smiled at the notion of enjoying a steaming cup of chocolatey goodness.

A sniffle that did not originate from himself sounded in his ears. Looking around, he saw nobody. No one but himself to warm the dark alley. But the sound was quickly succeeded by another of the same nature. He watched himself closely as he moved along, prepared for a fight, when he saw a small lump up ahead which was unlike the other piles of trash. Bracing himself, he took a few tentative steps towards the thing, when he was able to distinguish it as a human. And not just a human, but a young man, lying in the snow and shivering violently. It was a pitiful sight to see; an innocent young person suffering in the cold Russian winter. A closer look revealed that he wore only blue-pinstriped black track pants and a hoodie of the same nature. No hat, no gloves, nothing else besides what was listed could he find on his trembling frame.

Viktor pitied the young being at his feet, and knelt down beside him, sacrificing his own outer coat in favor of draping it over him. The man ceased his trembling just long enough to gaze up at the kind stranger who took notice of him when no one else would, and Viktor audibly gasped at the sight he was presented with. What should be inky raven hair on his head was frozen into a thick mat of icy tendrils stuck together and against his neck, having presumably been wet beforehand to make this possible. His face was horribly pale, except for beet-red ears and nose, the latter of which was running profusely. To rectify this, Viktor retrieved from his pocket a tissue to put to his nose, and just in time as the boy let out a harsh sneeze that left him sagging into the other’s arms, which were outspread to catch him. He relished in the newfound warmth and care, and promptly passed out.

Viktor’s brows were crooked in sympathy for the young male, suffering so the effects of prolonged exposure to extreme cold. Groceries forgone, he took the raven up into his arms and began the short journey back home, his frame unnaturally light in his arms. Getting the door to his humble home open was quite a task considering he had a person in his hold, but he made it happen after a few unsuccessful attempts. He set him down on his own bed in the bedroom and proceeded removing the frozen layers of clothing, only slightly blushing at the sight of his naked body sprawled out before him. He then covered him with the thickest blankets, and, after spending the next hour or so monitoring his condition to ensure it did not worsen, left to prepare the hot chocolate he wanted earlier, but for the two of them.

…

The young man’s dreams were silent. He was out in the alleyway, curled on his side, shivering endlessly. The world closed in around him, enveloping him in darkness. There was nothing left on this planet for him. All was silent.

Then, a light. The figure of another male like himself, with bright silver hair, broke through the oppressing darkness. A warmth shrouded him with ease and set his heart at rest. He relaxed into the welcoming heat, ever thankful for the kind stranger having come along, and let himself drift away.

When he awoke, he was in an unfamiliar environment. Beige walls surrounded him on all sides, complete with a pale ceiling to close him in. Looking down, all he could see was a moving mound under a creamy brown quilt, which he discerned was, in fact, himself, the rise and fall of his chest becoming clearer to his hazy vision.

A wave of cold washed over his body, causing him to instinctively clutch the blanket closer to his shaking body and curl up onto his side. He flipped over the pillow as well, all too aware of the wet spot that formed when his hair melted in his sleep. A sniffle and a kittenish sneeze later, he was ready to fall back asleep.

Footsteps. They sounded in the hallway, growing louder. His heart beat a little faster in apprehension of what was to come. He held his breath and waited for whomever was just around the corner from where he lay weak on the bed.

Then, a figure appeared in the doorway directly in front of him. He was just like the man in his dream, as far as he could discern without his glasses, for bright silvery hair fell in front of his left eye delicately and spilled over his back and shoulders with innate grace. Piercing aquamarine orbs gazed curiously at him, and his mouth was set in a gentle smile. He was about six feet, he guessed, and quite attractive overall.

“Good evening,” the man’s voice sounded, thick with a Russian accent and smooth and deep like flowing honey. It soothed his growing anxiety a little, just listening to him speak to him. “Sleep well?”

It took entirely too long for him to answer, but when he did, it was a stuttered “Oh...y-yeah.”

The stranger smiled a little wider and stepped forward, while the raven scooted back slightly. Not fast enough for the man to catch up to him and, instead of harming him like his brain convinced him he would do, he held out his hand. “My name is Viktor. I found you freezing in the streets, so I brought you home.”

At the welcoming hand Viktor held out, he tentatively reached out his own to clasp it. “Yuri,” he said shortly. Viktor beamed.

“Well then, Yuri. It’s very nice to meet you. How about some hot chocolate? Or would you like a bath first?”

The thought of taking a nice hot bath to soothe his nerves was rather inviting, to say the least. He would have accepted right then and there if he had not any decency. So he just choked out “N-No, that’s okay. You don’t have to-”

But he could not finish before Viktor interjected with “I insist! I want you feeling better as soon as possible, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

During this entire intercourse Yuri realized he was still tightly gripping Viktor’s hand, and drew his own away abruptly with an embarrassed flush. He sat up straighter, causing the blanket to fall and pool at his hips, exposing his bare chest. With a squeak, he grabbed the quilt in a hurry and wrapped it protectively around himself, as though he were a woman with her chest exposed to a man who was trying to seduce her.

He was close to hyperventilation at this point, his heart pounding furiously. His blush crept down from his cheeks to his neck, shoulders, and collarbone, and his eyes were wide as they darted everywhere except to his host.

How strange he must seem to the kind and amiable Viktor! How much of an embarrassment he must be, to act so unlike the normal person towards him! Yuri could hardly stand it, so much kindness towards him when all he has done was take up his time and space. He is lying in his bed, for God’s sake! And now he is offering drink and bath for him? What had he ever done to deserve such concern for his wellbeing?

“Yuri,” Viktor called him out of his reverie. He snapped back into reality to find Viktor’s face screwed into a concerned and caring expression. Belatedly he realized there must have been a long, awkward pause in their conversation. Again Viktor had that smile on his face. “Are you feeling alright? Should I take you to a doctor?”

“No!” Yuri cried at last, throwing the blanket down to his legs once more as if to prove that he were not ailing, if his pale skin and trembling body spoke not of it. “I’m okay, really! You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not…” He let the rest of the sentence die, but Viktor knew exactly what he was going to say. He knelt down by the bedside and took Yuri’s hands in his own, noting but not commenting on how cold they still were. Even so, they were quite soft.

“Yuri, please do not worry about what I think. You are most definitely worth taking care of, at least to me. So please, let me take care of you?”

The vulnerability, the weakness in his voice, was what made Yuri’s resolve crack. His host was so insistent on taking care of him, a nobody who would have been better off dead anyways. Who was he to argue when he was so set on this goal? Rather, how was he to argue?

The ensuing silence that filled the room with naught but the sound of their own breathing, Yuri’s fast and Viktor’s calm, seemed to spread into their minds as well, for there were no thoughts that invaded their semblance of peace.

As is always inevitable, the silence was broken with Viktor’s curious poke at Yuri’s prominent ribcage, admiring the way it jutted out unnaturally from his chest. “I had better get some food in you as well. You need it.” His tone spoke finality, leaving room for no argument. If Viktor wanted to feed him and bathe him, then so be it. He can’t resist it anyway. He was far too weak to put up a real fight other than a few choice words. So while Viktor took care of drawing up the hot bath, Yuri slinked down into the mattress once more, and waited in silence.

He lay like this for quite some time, listening to the running water fill the tub in the other room, until exhaustion once more sunk its fangs into his consciousness, and as he lost the battle to keep his eyes open, he heard the water shut off, and footsteps pad into the bedroom once again. Viktor appeared at the bedside, though Yuri was not awake to see this, for he had fallen asleep only seconds before he came in, the sound of his soft breathing filling the air.

Viktor saw this and chuckled to himself. He pulled the blanket away from his small body gently and scooped his limp form up into his arms, holding him close to his chest. Yuri visibly relaxed when he made contact with the steaming water, and his eyes fluttered open slowly.

“Hm? Wha…?” he slurred, obviously confused at the change in setting. It seemed every time he woke up he was someplace else. He didn’t investigate it further, though, because one look at the water and he knew where he was. It did not take long for him to relax into the steaming bath, to which Viktor laughed lightly.

“Comfortable?”

Yuri jumped at the sound of his voice and sat up straight in the tub, now wide awake despite his earlier fatigue. He earned another light laugh for this.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he amended lightly, as if the fact he had nearly caused Yuri an anxiety attack was a joking matter. Yuri just stared at him intensely, as if the second he looked away Viktor would attack him or some other bad thing would happen to him. But no such thing happened. All Viktor did was grab the shampoo and squirt some onto his hand. Being granted silent permission, he began to scrub the soap into Yuri’s hair, working out all the grime from the city streets. If Yuri could purr, he would have in that moment, the action of being taken care of by someone calming to him.

Viktor hummed some obscure Russian song Yuri never heard of, yet he found it soothing at the same time. It brought him back to when his mother would sing him lullabies as a baby to get him to go to sleep.

His mother…

“Hey, what happened Yuri?” Viktor asked him, seeing tears falling down his cheeks. He had never had to deal with anyone crying before, so he had no idea what to do to help him. All he really could do was ask him what was wrong, and after that, he didn’t know.

Yuri continued to cry, and turned away from him, hair now rinsed off and dripping wet with warm water down his shoulders. He sank further into the tub, as if he could reason with himself that if he submerged deep enough he could hide himself from his caregiver. Viktor heard the word “mom” repeated over and over again by the younger male, and he dared to venture “What about your mom? Is she alright?”

Yuri shook his head violently, the action dizzying him. He sobbed ferociously, bordering on screaming his anguish. All Viktor could do was wait it out and let him speak on his own time.

After what seemed like forever, the crying died down to gasping hiccups, and he was able to mutter a few words.

“Mom...she...she’s dead,” he was able to choke out, before more sobs racked his body.


	2. Chapter 2

Viktor was in disbelief at what he was hearing; Yuri’s mother, dead? The very idea seemed all too unbelievable to him. And yet here was Yuri, sobbing in his bathtub, telling his story. In broken, fragmented sentences. He wanted to reach out and embrace him, to dispel all the fear and anxiety that spilled out of him between broken sobs, as if the words were choking him. But he was still very much a stranger to him. He could not fling himself upon the shattered man.

His heart beat faster and faster as he listened to the tale of how his entire family was gone, called back to Heaven only a month prior. It was a devastating earthquake that condemned them to death, one of the largest Japan had seen in a long time. His eyes closed subconsciously, as if to picture the event, the razed cities, shaking ground, screaming of the residents of said cities on said ground. He pictured his own family in the rubble rather than a conception of Yuri’s, and thought back to when his own family left him.

It had been a tragic time for Viktor; he was reduced to a lowly outcast, stealing from open windows baked goods that were left on the sills to cool after being cooked to perfection in the oven. He was a common thief at that time, and knew no better how to care for himself.

One day, he had been caught stealing bread from a bakery, and was chased by the owner of the shop, until he finally lost him in an alley. Thugs were there as well, and wasted no time in assaulting the young child until he lay bruised and bleeding, with a broken arm. That alley was also where he met Yakov, a kind yet stern old man of a Russian, who offered to take him in and care for him. Viktor, being only twelve at the time, agreed without hesitation.

Yakov took him home, where he was bathed and dressed properly, his wounds bandaged and his arm wrapped and placed in a sling, and his hair neatly combed until it lay flat over his shoulders. The old man had more than once discussed cutting it short, but Viktor refused each time the subject was presented. His long hair was all he had left of his previous family. He remembered recalling the memory of his mother brushing it for almost hours at a time, straightening and braiding it, doting over how beautiful it was. And sometimes Viktor hated having his hair messed with, but now, listening to Yuri’s speech, he wanted nothing more than to have his mother back one more time, to fawn over his hair one last time.

But she was gone. Not dead, per se, but gone. His father had divorced her shortly after the death of Viktor’s little sister, and taken him along, only to leave him on the streets, and never return. When he was able to find his way home again, they had already left, and did not come back.

That was so long ago, and yet he still remembered it in vivid detail. Over fifteen years ago, he recalled.

“And...And then… I-I heard it on the news, about the earthquake…” Yuri was speaking again, and Viktor snapped out of his memories in favor of listening to his guest. “I was competing in...i-in the world’s vocal competition… I couldn’t take it and I came in last…” Yuri couldn’t finish his story, for then he broke down into gasping sobs that shook his body. He hid his face pathetically from his caretaker’s sight, as if the thought of them meeting gazes was so abhorrent that he could hardly bear to stand it. Viktor, however, had different plans. He gently hooked his hand under his chin and turned his covered face, using then his other hand to lower Yuri’s. His face was screwed up in anguish, and as hard as Yuri fought to get away, Viktor was not having it, so the younger had no choice but to give up the fight and seek the comfort of the other. With silent permission being given, Viktor gathered Yuri up in his arms in a gentle embrace, and at the kind gesture Yuri’s heart broke entirely. He buried his face in his shoulder and cried like a child, while Viktor, being ever-patient, stroked his wet hair paid no heed to how his clothes were becoming laden with water. He murmured sweet nothings into his ear to get him to just let it out. He would not tell Yuri to calm down; he needed to get this off his chest if he were to begin the healing process.

“That’s it, Yuri...you’re doing so well… Just let it out now. You’ll be okay, I’m here for you,” he soothed. He continued like this, petting Yuri’s ebony hair and whispering in his ear, until his cries died down to soft whimpers of discontent. The whole time Viktor stayed with him and helped him to ride it out, until the devastated man quieted at last. He sank down, defeated, into the tub and let the lukewarm water surround his cold body. His tense muscles relaxed, and his eyes, now tinged red, slid shut. Viktor brushed the bangs out of Yuri’s eyes and watched him as he drifted in and out of consciousness, until Viktor finally said to him “We should get you dressed.”

“Hm?” Yuri looked ready to pass out all over again, that being evident in the way he languidly responded to the statement. “Don’ have any clothes…”

“That’s okay. You can borrow some of mine until we get you some more,” Viktor stated matter-of-factly, earning a confused glance his way.

“What? But why would you…” He didn’t finish before Viktor held up a finger to silence him.

“Yuri, think about it. Your family is gone, so you have nowhere to go. You don’t have any other clothes, either, except the dirty set that even now is in the laundry basket. You need more than that, don’t you? And you need somewhere to stay. So...it would be a pleasure if you would stay with me.” He smiled, embarrassed now that the offer was out there. What would Yuri think of him now? Did he just make a terrible mistake?

No, he couldn’t have. There is nowhere else for Yuri to go. He left his family in Japan to go out on his own to this competition, and now they are all dead. He doesn’t have anyone to fall back on except him. But what about friends? Did he have any of those?

“Are...Are you sure…?” Yuri asked tentatively. “I-I don’t want to intrude…”

“Nonsense!” Viktor boomed, effectively interrupting him. “Anything I can do to help. I don’t want to abandon you. You’re special to me.”  
Did that sound too romantic?

No matter. The way Yuri’s face lit up in pure happiness at the sentiment, Viktor must have done something right. And then, tears were overflowing again, and Yuri threw himself upon his caretaker, who gladly (though confusedly) embraced him one last time.

“I-I thought I was alone…” Yuri sobbed over Viktor’s shoulder. “I thought...it was the end. But...then you… Thank you…”

Viktor, after his initial moment of shock, soothingly rubbed his back in slow, caring strokes.

“Anytime.”

…

This was not, however, the end of Yuri’s struggle. He was still very much suffering the aftereffects of nearly freezing to death, namely a nasty fever that had him bedridden for days. Viktor watched with a careful eye over him as he tossed in his sleep, eyebrows knitted together in a constant grimace that obviously depicted his discomfort. His chest was constantly tight, and he often awoke from his restless sleep to either cough or vomit, sometimes both. The latter usually ended with Viktor cleaning up an overly-apologetic Yuri and replacing the bedsheets, both with the utmost care.

When his fever hit 103, he seriously considered taking him to the hospital, but Yuri harshly declined, which ended in another coughing fit. Each time thereafter Viktor mentioned the hospital, Yuri would tense up, as if the very thought of being there terrified him, and he would not speak to Viktor for the next number of hours, until he needed to be fed or cleaned.

Feeding him was, at first, quite a challenge for Viktor. He had stuck with something simple each time, usually orange slices or a glass of juice, but Yuri would turn away, claiming he was not hungry. Even as his stomach cried out to be filled, he would refuse the offering. It was three days of constant persistence until Yuri finally opened up enough to allow Viktor to feed him some crackers. He had grimaced at first towards the thought of eating, but as the second cracker made its way into his mouth, he had warmed up to the idea, and even started taking them himself after the third and wolfing them down hungrily. The apple juice he provided was gone before he knew it. This highly pleased Viktor, for it meant he was on the road to recovery, however treacherous it may be at the moment.

The cleaning part of the endeavor was always silent, save for Yuri’s constant stream of apologies as Viktor scrubbed all of the vomit from his face and changed out his clothes for fresh ones. One thing that Viktor learned about Yuri was his propensity to apologize for the smallest things, and near beg forgiveness as though it were some great crime he committed. Sometimes he even switched over to Japanese, as he was so lost in his anxiety he could not mentally translate to English.

At first Viktor just calmly soothed him in English, but then he had an idea when he saw how ineffective it was. The next time it happened, he would try it.

And then it happened. Yuri awoke sputtering and coughing wetly, a sure sign of what was to come. Surely enough, he doubled over and retched, spitting up all over his lap. His breathing was ragged when he finished, and his chest heaved with each shuddering breath. Viktor just smiled and proceeded to clean it up.

“I’m sorry…” Yuri whimpered, before the tears came spilling forth from his eyes and down his cheeks. He covered his face with his hands and cried, his fever making the situation seem so much worse to him.

Viktor just stroked his soaked, flushed cheek and whispered “Vse normal'no, Yuri.”

His voice, smooth and husky, cut through the fog of Yuri’s doubts. The Russian words grabbed his attention, and his breath hitched.

“Vse budet khorosho,” he continued, letting his native language roll off his tongue. At this, Yuri spared a glance up and saw Viktor’s comforting smile through the blur caused by tears and lack of glasses.

“V-Viktor?” Yuri mewled in half question, half confusion. What did he just say? And why did it calm him so quickly?

“I’m here, Yuri,” he continued in English now that he knew he had his attention. “I will take care of you, so just relax. Okay?”

At this point the residual anxiety he was experiencing was beginning to fade away, leaving him with nothing but an exhausted body to deal with. He nodded and sank back down, waiting for oblivion to swallow him whole. And it came to him, silently consuming the last vestiges of consciousness he still possessed.

The last thing he heard before succumbing to sleep was Viktor’s voice calling to him “Rest your mind, Yuri. I’ll take care of you.”

…

The next few days Yuri spent recovering were rather monotonous and overall unworthy of recording. To sum it up in a few words, Viktor continued to feed him small bits of food, a few grapes here and there, half a peanut butter sandwich. Bit by bit, his health gradually improved. While before Viktor always surprised him by bringing in those tasty morsels he craved, now he asked for it, albeit in a low, feeble voice. The first word he had spoken since his breakdown was “Water…” And Viktor was glad to accommodate. It meant he was getting better, disregarding how gradual the process was.

After that, food was what he began asking for. And not the little bite-sized pieces of fruit that he had been provided so far, but as much as half a bowl of soup, (just barely) polishing off the broth. He still always fell asleep after eating, but that would fix itself in time.

His sleep pattern was still irregular as well, but that was mostly due to him being bedridden for a week. When just lying there, unable to get up except with help to get to the bathroom, there is nothing to do but rest the eyes and hope that when he wakes up he can move on his own. He had yet to see the rest of the apartment. The only life he had known within was in the bathroom and bedroom. He wanted desperately to get up and explore.

He set his mind to get himself up tomorrow after breakfast, just to see what the place was like. That was it. He would go back to bed after. That should be fine, right?

So the next morning, after finishing up a couple pieces of toast, he made up his mind. He hadn’t stood without help in over seven days now. Needless to say he was a little nervous. He wasn’t afraid of walking, per se, but rather the embarrassment of falling in front of Viktor. He didn’t want to feel so weak. He didn’t want to look so weak.

But he had to get up sometime, and better to try and fail then to stay in bed for another day.

With that said, he slowly began the process of shifting into a sitting position, which was a little bit of an effort on its own. He was already breaking out in a sweat when he got his legs over the side of the bed and, with tremendous effort, after collapsing once, he was able to stand, though leaning against the wall.

He breathed hard as he made the short, laborious walk down the hallway, clad in nothing but a pair of boxers Viktor had graciously lent him. He was still embarrassed about that fact, but at the moment he was far too preoccupied to be bashful. His eyebrows furrowed as he searched for the silver man; he must be out in the kitchen, or somewhere near there. He could smell food coming from that general direction, the sweet aroma making his stomach cry for attention. As he came nearer to where he assumed Viktor was, his heart bounded in his throat. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe he should just go back before Viktor yells at him.

No. He wanted to be strong. He didn’t want to be a burden to Viktor anymore. He had to make every effort to recover. If that meant walking around before he was ready, so be it.

Viktor was indeed in the kitchen preparing a small meal, humming some obscure Russian song Yuri had never heard before. He was just adding in the seasonings when he spotted Yuri watching him from the living room. Viktor gasped, his protective instincts kicking in on the spot. He dropped what he was doing in favor of rushing over to the weakened boy.

“Ah, Yuri! What are you doing out of bed so soon? You should be resting!” Viktor chastised, helping support Yuri when he faltered. Yuri just brushed him off.

“Viktor, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me…” Even as he said it he was starting to lose his confidence and strength. “Besides, I don’t want to be in bed anymore. I want to…”

He didn’t finish before his legs gave out underneath him, and with a sigh he collapsed into Viktor’s strong frame, whose arms snaked around him to hold him up. Yuri just gave in, the sound of Viktor’s heartbeat thumping strong and soothing in his ear where his head had landed. He shivered despite being too hot, and did not protest when Viktor lifted him up and carried him over to the sofa.

“Here. Since you don’t want to be in bed, you can just lie on the couch, okay? Let me go get you a blanket.” Then he left for a second, leaving Yuri a sweating, shivering mess on the couch. When Viktor returned, Yuri glanced over at him with the biggest puppy eyes he had ever seen.

“Stay with me?” Yuri pled, reaching out to him. But Viktor just smiled and turned away.

“I have to finish making the food, Yuri.” He wanted nothing more than to stay close to him, but he couldn’t just let the meal make a mess on the stove. Yuri sighed his complaint, but he still saw the logic in what Viktor was saying. He therefore turned on his side, facing towards the back of the couch, curling up and crossing his arms, shivering violently. Viktor didn’t notice this and worked on finishing up the food as quickly as possible so that he could fulfill Yuri’s pleading request.

He was not the best cook, but he was decent. He also did not often make ramen. However, he wanted Yuri to feel as much at home as he could. Being from Japan, he should appreciate this, right?

Viktor made short work of finishing up the noodles, seasoning them to perfection. A little taste test confirmed for him that it was just right. He dished up two bowls of it, complete with a set of chopsticks for Yuri (he liked to have fun using them once in a while, though he was still not that great), and walked silently and cheerfully over to where the boy lay, only to notice him trembling fiercely. He mentally facepalmed, not believing he forgot the blanket. He set the bowls down, shaking his head to himself, and quit the room.

He returned just a moment later with the quilt and threw it gently over him, the sight of Yuri sighing in contentment and clutching it close to his body endearing. Viktor had to admit, Yuri was very cute. Even if he didn’t know it himself.

Maybe he should make a point of telling him while they ate.

Oh! He nearly forgot about the food! They should probably eat now.

But that meant he would have to wake up the sleeping beauty on the couch.

He sighed and shook his head, then sat down beside him. He gently petted the raven’s hair, admiring how silky it was atop his head. Smiling at the way it flowed between his fingers, he decided it was about time to wake him up.

“Yuri,” he crooned, “it’s time to wake up. I have food for you…”

Yuri just moaned and rolled onto his back, still fast asleep, mumbling something unintelligible along the way, stabbing Viktor’s heart with a sharp knife tipped with love and endearment. In just over one week since finding him in the cold, he had already managed to make Viktor fall in love. It was a feeling Viktor was not accustomed to. He had no idea what to do with himself. All he knew was that butterflies were fluttering in his stomach every time he so much as looked at the sleeping man. He just wanted nothing more than to hold him close and pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings…

What would Yuri think?

This was the main problem with his love: he had no idea whether or not Yuri would reciprocate. Maybe he should just hint at it. Perhaps ask him about previous lovers? Or would that be too creepy? Even though he’s had none, even Viktor would feel a bit strange being asked that question. No doubt Yuri would shun him. But what should he do? Just come out with it? But what if that was too direct? And there was always that chance of being rejected.

He didn’t know what he would do if he were turned down. Cry would be the first thing, he was sure. After that...would Yuri leave him? He would get out of the house as soon as possible, wouldn't he? He already looked like he didn’t want to be there. Not because of Viktor, though. He was sure it was just because of his excess hospitality, how he was kindly lending him clothes, feeding him, actually _spoon feeding_ him, bathing him, cleaning up his mess, and all the other little things he did to help. But what choice did he have? He adored the young man who was with him. Everything about him just seemed so perfect. He simply could not resist him.

But this was not the time to be thinking of these things. First and foremost, he had to wake him up so he could eat. In his reverie the noodles were starting to cool off. Instead of doing what he wanted to do, he just settled for gently shaking his shoulder. This slowly roused Yuri, and he blinked wearily up at his caretaker.

“Vikutoru?” Yuri mumbled, accent thickly laced in his voice and torturing Viktor. “Did I fall asleep?”  
“Yeah, you did,” he responded while just barely keeping the struggle of containing himself out of his voice. “I got you your dinner. I don’t know how good it is, but I tried to make ramen for you.”

Yuri looked over tiredly at the bowl waiting for him, noting that chopsticks were also included rather than a spoon. With a little help on Viktor’s part, he was able to sit up, and he grabbed the chopsticks with natural ease and scooped up some of the noodles. Tears welled up in his eyes as he took a bite.

“Viktor, this is perfect… Thank you,” he choked through a sob. Figuring this to be a good time, Viktor scooped the emotional man into his arms to soothe him. Yuri relaxed instantly into the embrace.

“Anytime at all, Yuri.” Then, as an afterthought, “Welcome home.”


	3. Chapter 3

Home? What was that supposed to mean? This wasn’t his home. His home was in Japan, completely destroyed. There was nothing for him. Viktor shouldn’t have to take care of him, a worthless nothing who couldn’t even take care of himself in a little bit of cold weather. Viktor should be taking care of himself first. He shouldn’t worry about small, pathetic, useless Yuri Katsuki.

In fact, Yuri should be going back to Japan, not sticking around in a strange place where he doesn’t belong. This was no place for a foreigner. This was no place for Yuri.

In the cloud of his own anxious thoughts, he didn’t realize his breathing had sped up, but now it was out of his control. His thoughts spiraled downward until he thought only of how he should have been there with his family, and how he was a disgrace to the family name. His head was pounding with the rapid beat of his heart as it slammed painfully against his ribcage. Tears leaked as profusely as the beads of sweat that gathered on his brow. His entire body was tense and shaking. He pushed the concerned Viktor away, who transitioned immediately from worry into fear at seeing the state he was in.

“Yuri?” he tried, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder gently. At the slight contact, Yuri screamed, actually screamed out at the top of his lungs, and swatted his hand, backing away until he was at the very end of the couch, curled in on himself, hyperventilating. This wasn’t home. He just wanted to go home!

“Yuri, please, you’re scaring me…” Viktor called out to him, unsure what to do. He had never dealt with an anxiety attack before; he was completely out of his league with this. Yuri didn’t seem to notice him either, too lost in his own realm on the other end of the sofa.

Viktor’s hands bunched up nervously in his lap, anxiously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while simultaneously attempting to figure out what he could do to help Yuri.

At this point, Yuri’s body began to convulse violently. Viktor didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. The wild look in his eyes was the only warning he had before he was coughing up everything he had just eaten onto the floor. Viktor looked around desperately, trying to find some way to help him before he passed out from hyperventilation.

But he was too late. He thought at first that the slowing of his breath meant the attack was passing. However, the glazed, panicked look he held was the only precursor to him losing consciousness, falling onto his side and right into Viktor, who caught him before he could fall off the couch and into his own vomit. His breathing was still ragged, uneven, and he could see his heart thudding fast and hard through the shirt. He held Yuri’s limp form close to him and cried, he himself becoming lost in his own form of anxiety. But this would not lead to a full-blown attack; no, it would just lead to a bout of depression, as his despair always did. That feeling of utter hopelessness had led him into dangerous predicaments more than once.

He didn’t know what to do to help Yuri; could he even help him? Or was he just as useless as he had first anticipated he would be? He didn’t regret taking Yuri in from the cold, and he never would. But he did regret not being a better caretaker, one who could actually help him through a panic attack. Especially one that he set off himself.

He chewed his bottom lip and gazed down at the unconscious form in his lap. Tears blurred his vision, and he let them fall. He couldn’t be a worse caretaker.

…

“N-Nnngh…”

“Yuri? Are you awake?”

It was the dejected tone that roused Yuri from the depths of slumber. That all-too-familiar sound of complete hopelessness that he himself had too often in his voice. Slowly, very sluggishly did he open his eyes and look around the room for the source of the sound, finally landing on Viktor’s concerned countenance. He held a look of sympathy, but why? What did he do to deserve his care?

“...Viktor?” He cringed at how broken his voice sounded, and shrank back from its source. Viktor just offered a warm smile.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked softly, as if he would disturb the peace of the room should he speak too loudly. Yuri paused and pondered a moment and decided that yes, he did feel somewhat better. But…

“What happened?”

This caught Viktor off guard; how could he not remember something as traumatic as that?

“You had a panic attack yesterday and passed out,” he recalled vaguely. At the depressing news, Yuri turned over onto his side, facing away from the man who already did too much for him, and curled in on himself, much as he had the day before (without his knowledge). Viktor took this opportunity to lay a gentle, soothing hand on his shoulder, rubbing small, comforting circles.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” he sighed, the sound oddly broken. “I should have been able to calm you down.”

Yuri said nothing. He just silently, secretly enjoyed the feeling of Viktor’s hand rubbing his tense shoulder until the muscles underneath were smooth and pliant. His body visibly relaxed, and Viktor noticed this and smiled a sad, sweet smile to himself at the notion of being some small comfort to him. It was a reassuring thought to him that he wasn’t so useless as he once thought himself to be, as his father more than once had made clear to him.

His father…

“Viktor?”

“I-I’m sorry. I need to go,” Viktor choked out, barely suppressing a sob as his hand retreated from Yuri’s shoulder and he quitted the room. Yuri stared after him, not able to do much more than that in the weak state he was in. Why was Viktor acting so strange all of a sudden? Was it something he did?

_The panic attack._

The thought made him jump. That must have been what it was. Viktor feels uncomfortable around him now because he witnessed Yuri’s panic attack. Anyone would be unsettled after seeing such a horrific show as what he had displayed the day prior. And now he had driven Viktor off, all because he doesn’t know how to breathe.

Yuri’s throat tightened in that highly familiar way, and before he knew it he was crying. He shed big, ugly tears into the pillow and buried his face in them, as if he had a choice not to but decided to do so anyway. As if someone were watching him, he hid himself underneath the blanket and sobbed his heart out there, in the vaguely comforting darkness and somewhat soothing warmth it provided.

What he didn’t realize was that Viktor was doing the same thing in the living room, but for different reasons. It was not, as Yuri thought, his fault that Viktor had left, but rather the result of years of physical abuse and emotional manipulation from which he could only escape through his mother, who was trapped in a loveless marriage of one-sided affection and sex only for the sake of satisfying the need. He remembered distinctly how thin and frail his mother had become after the death of Viktor’s sister, wasting away with her depression. And his father did not care one bit, no matter the front he presented to the world. He enjoyed watching her (and Viktor) suffer by his hands, and he desired to create more distress, hence the divorce and abandonment.

Viktor cried more than he had in years in that single day, unable to suppress his emotions any longer. He wept for hours, leaving Yuri only to listen once he himself had calmed down enough to hear the muffled sobs that racked his body.

He needed Viktor, and Viktor needed him. It was a hard time for them both, and neither could get through it alone. But the distance between them only served against them. Yuri had to get up and go over to him. So slowly, agonizingly slowly, Yuri began the gradual process of getting up for a second time in two days, a feat on its own after how long he had spent holed up in that bedroom. He took only a blanket with him, which was wrapped securely around his thin frame.

In the living room, Viktor’s anxious crying had dissolved to quiet whimpers of distress, face still buried securely in his crossed arms which rested on the arm of the couch. He looked up hesitantly when he heard silent footsteps approaching, his eyes now wet and red, and looked upon the equally-disheveled Yuri, who was unable to say anything at all when he saw the state Viktor was in.

Yuri’s body quaked from a combination of cold and despair, and he threw himself into Viktor’s arms, abandoning all inhibitions at this point. Viktor, unable to do much more, wrapped himself around the smaller boy, buried his face in the crook of his neck, and cried with Yuri.

They both lay there on the couch for the rest of the day, weeping and taking comfort in the other’s presence, until falling asleep sometime late in the evening in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. But it's here anyway!


End file.
